


Dancing in the Desert

by Staiver



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book Omens Week 2020, Gen, Not beta read we fall like Crowley, Pre-Canon: Good Omens, bookomens, honestly book omens only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staiver/pseuds/Staiver
Summary: During the first years that I loved this book, before the TV version, the only imagery that I had was that of the Bible, Dante, and Milton. (That is, apart from the beautiful wood-block style illuminations in the book itself, which the authors were not allowed to keep when they changed publishers.) This is what the story looked like in my head all those years, when I was trying to answer the following questions:How did Crowley end up Below?If Aziraphale is supposed to be guarding the Tree of Life, what’s he doing in London?What’s the deal with Crowley and the houseplants?Why is Aziraphale a Principality, when the Bible clearly says Cherubim?These are my answers. I hope that you enjoy.
Kudos: 11





	1. The Fall

The new angels were certainly a peculiar bunch, one thought. Black wings, hair, and eyes that clashed with the general color scheme of the City of the Scrolls. Jarring in fact. Not to mention that they didn’t have the decency to wear robes, and flew around in the altogether.

They were on the small side, quick, pesky things. Flighty, one might say, lacking the gravitas and dignity of the older angels. Here and gone without even stopping. There went one now, a black streak across the firmament.

Not their fault, of course, poor things. The new angels were no worse than they had been created. But what was He thinking? The older angels shook their golden, perfumed heads, shrugged their be-winged shoulders, and muttered: “Ineffability.”

Crowliel lounged languidly on one of the giant diamonds that dangled unsupported around the Fountain of the Aspects, and watched the group of older angels below. Bunch of old fogies. All of Heaven to explore, and all they did was sit and gossip.

And those ugly, shapeless robes. Like the bodies that the Creator had given them weren’t good enough. They looked like a bunch of rocks, sitting there forever talking about who knew what.

“It’s politics,” Noiriel had explained. Noiriel was the smartest of the young, black-winged angels, the only one who could listen to the older angels talk without getting a headache. Nobody had wanted to hear about the ‘politics’ and instead they went exploring again.

Nine rings, all inhabited by angels, surrounded the Eternal Foment on which stood the Holy of Holies. The rings reached out an almost infinite distance. Unformed firmament surrounded the rings in all directions.

The City of the Scrolls sat on the second ring out. There was a mansion for each angel, halls, palaces, plazas, and huge parks. In the center was the Temple of the Scrolls where, not surprisingly, the Scrolls of Light were kept.

The young angels preferred the second ring, even though the Presence was stronger in the first ring, because the angels in the first ring always seemed much too busy. And not busy in a good way, like busy playing. No, they were busy and serious.

But the young angels had explored all of the rings, and thought that they knew the entire Realm. They were therefore rather surprised to find, at the edge of the second ring, a door that seemed to lead nowhere. Of course, they went through, and found the Beyond.

The Beyond had trees that were much taller and closer together than in the parks. It had places where the ground was steep, and reached upwards to a great height. From these heights fell water in great undulating courses, which ran into endless bodies of water. Sometimes, glory of glories, water fell from the sky. 1

The young angels played in the Beyond, undisturbed by the older angels, who didn’t even know it was there. Sometimes, they played Hide-and-Seek in the great bodies of water. Sometimes, they played Tag in the air. 2

As Crowliel remembered later, it was Noiriel who first spoke the words that changed his world forever. The two of them were eating apples in the Beyond when Noiriel looked furtively around, and dropped his voice.

“There’s trouble in the outer rings,” he said.

“What kind of trouble?”

“A bunch of angels are planning to rebel.”

“To what?”

“They’re going to fight the other angels to take over Heaven.”

“That’s stupid. Why?” asked Crowliel, his head starting to throb.

“They don’t agree on stuff.” Even Noiriel was unclear on the points of contention.

“All that talking and they still don’t agree?” exclaimed Crowliel. “Bunch of—” Words failed him. Or rather, those words hadn’t been invented yet.

They said no more about it, but Noiriel was off in the outer rings more and more frequently. Crowliel wondered later if he should have tried talking to Noiriel. Maybe everything would have worked out better.

Instead, Crowliel ignored the whole thing, hoping that it would just go away. And for a while, everything seemed to continue as before. The older angels seemed somewhat more animated, but that wasn’t saying much.

It was purely by chance that Crowliel happened to be relaxing on a balcony overlooking the Plaza of the Four Accounts when he heard voices below him. One of the speakers was Michael, Commander of the Guard. He was speaking with Raphael, Master of the Temple of Healing.

“Commander Michael, my heart is troubled by what we do,” said Raphael.

“What then, my brother,” responded Michael. “Wouldst have the war reach the Presence?”

“Of course not. But martial law—”

“—is the only answer. Thou hast seen what remains of the outer rings.”

“But the angels of the inner rings have done nothing!”

“What is done in the heart is truly done.”

“Surely what is done with a sword is more truly done!”

“Opportunity alone separates the two. Those allied with the rebels will share in the penalty.” Michael did not seem at all distressed by this, and after all there was a reason he commanded the Guard, but Crowliel’s blood ran cold.

“We follow thy lead, Commander, but please pray for a better solution.”

“Are they Falling to The Below?”

“Oh, yes,” responded Raphael, with a weary sigh. “We’ll get them all.”

Crowliel got up quietly and backed into the hall. Then he spread his wings and flew at reckless speed to Noiriel’s mansion. He might still have time to warn his friend. He flew through the main door in the highest tower, and dropped to a run.

“Noiriel, fly! They’re coming for—” Crowliel skidded to a stop. Noiriel stood chained, a guard threatening him with a flaming sword.

“It was Crowliel!” screamed Noiriel, raising his chained hands toward Crowliel. “He told me to do it! I never would have done it otherwise!”

Crowliel had no experience with betrayal, and his mind short-circuited at these words.

“By the Name, I bind thee,” said the guard, and chains appeared on Crowliel. “Dost offer a defense?” Crowliel turned to him, then back to his friend, 3 in utter incomprehension.

“By the Name, I charge thee both Fall to The Below.” Crowliel felt the floor dissolve under him, and he fell into darkness, chained and helpless.

A tiny reddish light appeared in the direction he was going, and slowly got bigger. Eventually, it resolved into an enormous fire. He was going to drop into a fire, but he was too much in shock to care.

The fire was actually a burning lake, and Crowliel hit it with a great splash of flames. His momentum plunged him to the bottom, and he bounced around in the lake several times before finding himself back up on the surface. He gasped, breathing sulfurous fumes, and realized that the chains were gone.

All around him, angels plunged into the burning lake, and bobbed up to the surface. A million screams of rage and despair echoed and re-echoed around him.

The impact had cleared Crowliel’s mind at last. But he wasn’t sure where he was, never having seen or heard of a place like this before, a place where the Presence didn’t reach.

He tried to raise his wings out of the burning liquid, but the splashing of falling angels agitated the lake, and he had to swim for the shore. His skin and wings felt as though they were burning, yet showed no damage.

Crowliel pulled himself up onto a barren and rocky shore. Everywhere, he saw angels who had Fallen before him, lying on the ground moaning or screaming. The ground trembled with the screams of the Fallen.

He raised an anguished cry to his Creator, but it just echoed back to him. His skin was still burning. He walked carefully between the Fallen angels, looking for an empty place.

He found a small outcropping of rock, which sheltered a tiny piece of rocky ground, just big enough for a small angel. Crowli of the Elohim curled up under it, covered his ears, and wrapped his wings around his naked, shuddering body.

* * *

1 They had discovered the Almighty's workshop, where He was carefully designing His next Great Work. "Measure twice and cut once," He would say, but nobody knew what He meant by it.

2 They no longer played Tag in the city, not since the time when Crowliel, turning to see if his friends were gaining on him, had collided with a peacock flying the other way. The two had tumbled, in an impressive display of plumage, and fallen on a group of angels practicing 12-part harmonies. Nobody had been hurt, but the ensuing row was something none of them, especially Crowliel, was eager to repeat.

3 Crowliel didn't have a word for ratfink yet either, but that would soon change.


	2. Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The names below which do not appear in the book come from classic demonology. I had a peculiar childhood.

After the initial shock wore off, the Fallen angels set about making a new world for themselves. Together they raised a great palace, and then they each went off to create mansions for themselves. Over time, they added plazas and halls. Soon, a mighty city sat by the burning lake, Satan’s great palace in the center. 1

The Fallen angels practiced guerrilla warfare in the city, so that they would be ready next time. Since they were immortal, it was no holds barred. If limbs went flying and blood soaked the ground, it was nothing personal, and everyone would eventually heal up and get back in the war games.

If Crowliel had trouble with the heavenly politics, he was abysmal at what he had to deal with now. First, since nobody recognized him, they all assumed he was a plant. They only ever called him “Spy”, and stopped talking whenever he came near. He had no idea where Noiriel had got to.

So Crowliel was stranded beside the burning lake with a bunch of older angels whom he could barely understand. He tried, he really did, to toughen up and learn the rules of the politics and the arts of war, but the effort just made him nauseous.

He was an attractive target for several reasons. As a supposed spy, he was the closest the Fallen angels had to an enemy in their midst. And you couldn’t miss him, with his black wings, hair, and eyes. Furthermore, he was completely inexperienced in the use of any weapon whatsoever.

So, the young angel frequently found himself the subject of ambushes. He got very good at running and flying away, but that wasn’t always enough.

On one occasion, his injuries were so extensive that he lay on the street, unable to move, for what seemed an eternity. Passersby jeered at him and hurt him in places he hadn’t known he had, until he was able to stagger to his feet and limp home. Once home, he installed a very large bathtub full of hot, soapy water, and stayed in it for a long, long time.

Now that he knew what Noiriel had been afraid of, Crowliel understood why his friend had betrayed him. He wasn’t even sure that he wouldn’t have done the same thing. He wanted to tell Noiriel that, but the other young angel was nowhere to be found. 2

Crowliel had lost his home, his friends, and most importantly, the Presence. But he would not let himself lose hope. He pulled himself together, and set off to explore the place in which he found himself. Surely, there would be something good about it.

They were inside an immense sphere. The red-glowing rock that surrounded them on all sides, and formed the sky above them, was the only source of light, except for the burning lake. Crowliel went all the way around, but could find no opening, no Noiriel, nor even anywhere that was better than where they were.

Meanwhile, Satan sat on his throne, smiling as he listened to the Dark Council discuss the business of the day.

“We must be rid of the spy.” Focalor spoke grimly. “Thou hast seen how he lurketh about.”

“Agreed,” said Berith. “We know he doth report on us to the Enemy.”

“But how doth he so? We must learn that first.” That was Barbatos, who always liked to know how things worked.

“It’s too dangerous. Best just be rid of him.”

“And where dost think thou can send him? My Lord Satan, what should we do?”

Satan shifted on his throne. “I have a plan,” he said. “We’ll send him to the Garden.”

“I see,” said Berith. “The Enemy, knowing that he hath failed, will take him back.”

“Suppose the Enemy doth not take him back? The spy can serve the Enemy in the Garden as well as here,” said Focalor.

“Understandest thou yet nothing of despair?” Satan asked, his smile growing. “If the spy doth find himself abandoned by the Enemy, he will serve us willingly.”

A tall, properly menacing, up-and-comer named Hastur was sent to deliver the will of Satan. Hastur went to Crowliel’s house, but found it empty. 3

That was all right. Hastur was very good at waiting. When Crowliel finally got back from his explorations, Hastur was still fresh.

“All hail Satan,” he called to the approaching figure.

“Um, hi,” responded Crowliel. He found the militaristic style of Satan’s regime very old school. He thought of himself as more laid-back, and avant-garde. “How’s it going?”

“Rejoice, oh highly-favored one, for thou hast been given a great charge.”

“Oh, er, good,” answered Crowliel, sinking into himself. In his experience, getting noticed was never a good thing.

“Our great lord doth provide thee with this material body,” said Hastur, handing it over to Crowliel as though it were offal. “And he doth dispatch thee to the Garden on the surface of the Earth, there to work his will on the humans withal.”

“There’s a way out?” asked Crowliel, taking the smallish body and perking up. “Where?”

“Behold, I shall show thee the way, at my lord’s behest.”

“Thanks. Now?”

“Dost wish to retrieve aught from thy house?”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’m keen to get started, you know, with my task.” Crowliel thought about what he was leaving behind. He couldn’t get away fast enough.

Hastur flew upward over the city, with Crowliel right behind. Directly above Satan’s palace, there was a small opening in the rock. Crowliel looked in. A tunnel led upward farther than he could see. It was much too narrow for him to unfurl his wings. He would have to climb. Great.

“What do I do once I’m there?”

“Make thou some trouble,” answered Hastur with the impatient shrug of one whose instructions had been vague on this point, and who knew what would happen if he got it wrong. “Thou shalt think of something.”

Crowliel nodded, threw the body over his shoulder, and scrambled into the tunnel.

“And don’t come back, you bloody spy,” muttered Hastur under his breath, before going back to report on his success.

* * *

1 Nobody mentioned the obvious fact that it was as close to a replica of the heavenly cities as they could manage. They were embarrassed that it had turned out that way, like children who find that they have grown up like their parents, after all.

2 He never found out what happened to Noiriel, which was probably just as well for his peace of mind. The burning lake was, in fact, a gateway to the various worlds that made up The Below. There were far worse places to be.

3 Really empty. Crowliel went in for the sparse un-lived-in look, rather than for the rococo excesses that most of the other angels preferred. In addition, the fact that most of the things he would eventually like hadn't been invented yet made the place difficult to furnish.


	3. Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's adventures in the garden, with Adam, Eve, and a certain tree.

On the plus side, the tunnel wasn’t dark, since the rock glowed with an even red glow. On the minus side, all the light did was show Crowliel how much farther he still had to go. But this was the break he’d been hoping for, so he pulled in his wings and climbed.

Eventually, the light grew brighter. To Crowliel’s infinite joy, he felt the Presence. Not as strongly as he had back home, but he would certainly take what he could get. He emerged from the tunnel at the top of a hill. He shook the dirt off his wings, and brushed himself off. Then he plopped down with a happy sigh, and just let the Presence wash over him. [1]

The light was brighter to one side, and eventually Crowliel got up and walked over there, until he could see into the valley. At first, he thought he saw the Beyond, and his heart skipped a beat.

Spreading his wings, he flew down, and saw that he was mistaken. What he was looking at was a smaller version of the Beyond he knew. But it was different in some important ways.

There was a wall around it. Instead of the door leading from the second ring, Crowliel found an open gate. Outside the gate lay a lush wilderness. Past that, a single nearby sun rose over the horizon, providing light and warmth.

He was still carrying the body that Hastur had given him. It was small, and he now saw, in scale with the Beyond in which he found himself. Crowliel pushed himself into it.

The body had unexpected bits that hung down oddly between his legs. Also, he didn’t know what to do with his wings, as the body didn’t have any. Eventually, he figured out how to winch them in so that they didn’t show. He sealed the body up around himself.

Crowliel walked through the Garden until he found someone. It looked like a wingless angel with the same bits between his legs that Crowliel had now. As this was the only inhabitant that Crowliel had seen, he took it to be a human.

The human looked even younger than Crowliel, though the look was as deceptive in his case as it was in Crowliel’s. He was, in fact, an infant, for all that his body was sexually mature and he could speak in complete sentences. He was poking holes into a piece of river reed, and then blowing through it.

“Hi,” said Crowliel, when he was within speaking distance.

“The woman is mine,” said the human, standing and facing Crowliel. He held the river reed in front of him, in an aggressive manner.

Crowliel turned and walked away. He wasn’t ready to fight anyone over whatever a ‘woman’ might be. In fact, all he asked was a quiet life, in some comfortable spot, a bit of Presence to sustain him, and a friend to talk to. Was that so unreasonable?

He sat behind a tree feeling sorry for himself for a while, and then decided to use the skills he was learning Below. What would they do, in his place? What would he do, if he had wiles and guiles and politics? He thought and thought.

The answer was so simple that he was a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t come up with it at once. If his present form was intimidating to the human, Crowliel needed another form. Something familiar to the human, and unthreatening.

There were birds in the Garden, similar to the ones he knew, and also other life forms, that walked on four legs. He studied them, looking for a shape that would suit his purpose.

Then, on a rock, Crowliel saw the right form. Long, but very low to the ground, absolutely harmless-looking. Beautiful too, with colorful scales that shone in the bright sunlight. Taking careful note of the details, Crowliel shimmied his new body into the same shape. Then he slithered off in search of the human. [2]

He found another one first, slightly different in shape, but just as young looking. This one was sitting, long black hair falling about the shoulders, by some running water. It was watching some small figures, which stood on the ground.

Crowliel suddenly realized that he had gone too far in the anti-intimidation direction. He was feeling much too stompable. But he didn’t have all day. With a deep breath, he made his move.

“Hi,” he said, in his friendliest voice.

“Hi,” said the young human in a high, sweet voice. “Do you like them?”

The human pointed at the small figures, and Crowliel slithered closer to have a better look. There were two human shapes, an angel shape, and a number of bird shapes crudely formed out of mud. They were drying in the warm sunlight.

“They’re very niccce,” said Crowliel diplomatically. “Did you make them?”

“Yes,” responded the human with a bright, proud smile. “I’ll make you. I can. I’ve made serpents before.” She rolled some mud into a long cylinder between her hands, and coiled it on the ground. “See?”

“I’m honored,” said Crowley. “Nobody’sss ever coiled mud for me before.”

“I’m Eve. Who are you?”

“I’m Cr—” He stopped. Eve knew what angels looked like, and the last thing Crowliel wanted was for his intrusion here to become known Above. “I’m-, I’m Crawly,” he said. “That’s right, call me Crawly, ‘cause that’s my name, you know.” [3]

“You’re funny,” giggled Eve. “Are you new here?”

“Yesss,” said Crawly, his tail twitching nervously. “I just came down that hill.”

“Is it nice there?”

“No!” Crowley was horrified at the thought of Eve finding the tunnel that led—“It’s much nicccer here.”

“Eve!” The call came from somewhere behind him.

“Oh, it’s Adam,” said Eve, standing. “Come and meet him.”

“Maybe later,” replied Crawly, retreating quickly. “I have a- a- thing.”

“Oh, all right. Come back when you can.”

“Sure. Good.” Crawly got out of sight just ahead of Adam’s arrival. He wasn’t ready to try talking to that one again. Instead, he climbed up into a tree to plan his next move.

Night fell. His adopted form started losing heat, and Crawly wasn’t sure what to do about it. He couldn’t move, but at least the Presence was still there. The dawn, and the warmth, came at last.

A day went by while Crawly observed. Eve and Adam were the only two humans in the Garden, and they seemed to have the run of the place. Nothing seemed dangerous. Crawly wondered what would happen to him if he couldn’t figure out how to make trouble. He decided to hang around Eve until an opportunity presented itself.

A few days later, he was wrapped around her shoulders as they explored the Garden, comparing preferences in fruit.

“Do you like this one?” asked Eve, indicating a pomegranate.

“No,” answered Crawly. “Too many seedsss. No fruit needs that many seedsss.”

“How about those?” she asked, referring to grapes. “I like those.”

“Thossse are good,” agreed Crawly. Eve walked over to the grapes and they ate some.

Just beyond the grapes was something that made Crawly shiver with anticipation.

“Oh, oh, ssstop the pressses. That one there.” He indicated a fruit tree in a clearing at the center of the Garden. He expected Eve to follow his lead, but instead, she tensed up under him.

“We can’t eat those. We’ll die.”

“What, from that?” asked Crawly, puzzled. “It’s jussst a knowledge tree. At least, I think it isss. Take me over there.”

Eve walked, with considerable trepidation, over to the tree. Crawly lifted his head up and licked the succulent, low-lying fruit experimentally with his tongue. It was definitely just a knowledge tree. [4] He sank his fangs into the fruit, and flicked the juice that squirted out into his mouth with his tongue.

“Ah, blisss, blisss, blisss.” He undulated with pleasure as the knowledge hit. “I can definitely get usssed to this place.”

“Are you all right, Crawly?” asked Eve, concerned. “Are you feeling dead, or anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” responded Crawly, his head lolling to one side unconvincingly.

“What’s happening to you?”

“The fruit opensss your mind. You sssuddenly know thingsss that you didn’t know before. Great big thingsss about Good and Evil. But it’sss never asss good asss the first time.”

“You’re falling off,” said Eve. “I think you should get some sleep.” She carried him to the tree where he usually spent the night, and laid him gently on a branch. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

Crawly did not answer. His thoughts had turned inward, and he felt better than he had in much, much, too long. 

* * *

[1] It was at this point that Noiriel suddenly felt a flood of relief, and plunged himself into the lake, emerging in a much less unpleasant place. He knows where Crowliel is at all times, and has the means to contact him. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the nerve. He remains Below, where he has gained great renown for his skill in leading people into sins of betrayal.

[2] He almost tied himself in a knot figuring out how to propel his new shape. But graceful movement was in his nature, and he was soon slithering like a pro.

[3] Of all the survival skills required Below, none was more essential than lying. Sadly, Crawly simply couldn't wrap his head around it very well.

[4] Its official name was Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, which Crawly thought was exactly the kind of name the older angels would think up. The fruit was not forbidden Above. Crawly strongly suspected that all of the older angels had eaten of the knowledge trees at some point. After all, they all knew right from wrong. However, the older angels all denied it vehemently, insisting that their understanding of these matters stemmed purely from the study of the sacred scrolls, and made disapproving 'tsk, tsk' noises whenever the younger angels frolicked in the trees, drunk with the knowledge that the fruits gave.


	4. The Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all goes South for our heroes.

He had beautiful dreams of home. He flew with the other young angels through the City of the Scrolls, and then they played in the Beyond. Noiriel was talking to him, but wasn’t saying his name quite right.

“Crawly, Crawly.” He uncoiled himself and looked into Eve’s anxious face. “Are you dead?” she asked.

“No, I’m not,” he said, stretching luxuriantly. It was another beautiful morning.

“I’m so glad,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I made this for you.” She held up a small bowl made of clay, filled with dirt. A plant stood in the middle of the dirt.

“Thank you,” said Crawly. “Um, what is it?”

“I call it a pot,” she said proudly. “See, you put a plant in it, then you can put the plant wherever you like. You can have a plant in your tree, like this,” she said, lodging the pot securely in a fork in the tree. She smiled broadly.

Crawly was moved in spite of himself. He inspected the pot appreciatively.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”

“See you later, Crawly,” she said, blushing. Then she ran off.

Crawly sighed. He still hadn’t figured out what kind of trouble to make. More to the point, he didn’t want to. The morning light was warm and gentle. And he thought that if he dozed off, he could get back to his earlier dream. He was right.

It was on the afternoon of the following day, while Crawly was sunning himself on a flat rock, that he was suddenly thrown to the ground by the force of the Presence. The Almighty was nearby! For a moment, Crawly felt a blind panic. Then he pulled himself together, and assessed his situation.

Frankly, he still thought his Fall had been a bit unfair. He had simply been caught at a bad moment. And that Noiriel. Quite frankly, Crawly still had a thing or two to say about that.

Maybe he should have prayed for an appeal when he first got to the surface, but he had been distracted, and it hadn’t occurred to him. He hadn’t really been at his best; in fact, he had been in over his head for quite a while now.

But what had he done? He’d taken the Fallen angels for role models, and learned what he could from them. Worse, now he was here to do their work. Crawly sighed. He had truly chosen, and it was the wrong choice. Now, the Creator was here to kick him back Below, where he belonged. He shuddered.

Well, there was nothing for it. He couldn’t hide, and he had too much pride to try. He’d handle it; he always did. Crawly took a deep breath, and slithered forth to meet his Maker.

As he approached the Presence, he heard voices. Eve and Adam were having some kind of argument. It was confusing, but from what he could make out, they had eaten the fruit of the knowledge tree, and were arguing over whose fault it was.

As he entered the Presence, he saw that Eve and Adam were arguing in front of the Creator. To Crawly’s surprise, they were wearing leaves on their bodies. As he slithered closer, Eve caught sight of him.

“It was Crawly!” screamed Eve, pointing at him. “He told me to do it! I never would have done it otherwise!”

Crawly sighed. He was getting really, really tired of people blaming him for their own decisions, of insisting that he had told them to do this or do that, when he had been someplace else the whole time, minding his own business.

He opened his mouth to remonstrate, stopped and looked at Eve more closely. Her movements were awkward and stiff. Her eyes were wide with life’s first, great, terror. Crawly wondered if he had looked like that, just before he Fell.

He shut his mouth, and let it go. It didn’t matter anyway. He had earned his damnation all by himself. He wasn’t going to beg, or blame anyone else for his predicament, thank you very much.

He was, however, going to tremble mightily, because he was scared witless. He raised his unblinking serpent eyes to look upon his Creator one last time, and waited for the ground to dissolve under him.

“Crawly,” [1] said the Almighty, looking into his eyes and seeing—Oh. Crawly tried to look away, but was transfixed, his angel heart beating out of control. “You will remain on the Earth all the days of your life.”

“Eat dirt, serpent!” screamed Eve.

The Creator looked at Eve, then back at Crawly. He shrugged in an almost apologetic manner. “There will be enmity between you and the woman, between your seed and hers.” Then he turned back to Eve and Adam.

Crawly could have wept for joy. A reprieve! He didn’t have to go back Below as long as he kept his body alive! And who knew what could happen in that time. Things were definitely looking up.

The bit about his seed confused him. He knew what it meant; he just didn’t see how it applied to him. He couldn't even imagine siring a dynasty of serpents. And in his human form—

He was roused from his reverie by the voice of a golden-hair angel, also wearing a material body, but with his wings extended. He had a flaming sword, and was explaining to Eve and Adam that he had to escort them off the premises, so sorry for the inconvenience.

Crawly recognized the angel, even through the body. It was one of the older ones, the one who had helped him up after a mid-air collision with a peacock. He didn’t know the angel’s name, but he had beautiful hands.

After escorting the humans out of the Garden through the Eastern Gate, the golden-haired angel took up a position there, apparently to keep out intruders. Crawly was rather surprised not to be kicked out as well, and decided to keep a low profile.

Storm clouds were gathering, and the animals of the Garden had gone into hiding. The whole Garden was way too quiet and empty. Crawly badly needed a knowledge tree fruit, and was vastly disappointed to find the tree gone.

The Presence had receded, or maybe Crawly just couldn’t feel it anymore. Well, Crawly had come to the Garden to make trouble in Satan’s name, and he had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations.

At least, he had nothing to hide anymore, so the Crawly name could go. But he wasn’t the angel Crowliel anymore, either. He’d have to come up with a new way of referring to himself.

He already missed Eve, and wished that they had parted on better terms. Nobody was left but the angel of the Eastern Gate. Maybe he wouldn’t remember their unfortunate first encounter.

Crawly felt a raindrop hit him. It was getting dark. He pulled out his bravado, and slithered out to the Eastern Gate. 

* * *

[1] Ever the gentleman, the Almighty takes His children on their own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, of course, where the 'In the beginning' part of the book happens. Next time we'll see that giving the sword away was not without consequences for Aziraphale. Also, what happened to the garden. And what Crowley did. Thanks for reading!


	5. Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of their actions catch up with our heroes.

There was something odd about the plant in the pot. There was some kind of spot on one of the leaves. Crawly puzzled over it, until the truth hit him.

He was losing the Beyond. Again. It was his fault. Again. The bitter pain seared down to his very core. He had to get away. Crawly shimmied out of his serpent form, and back into his human form.

He stood by the tree that had been his house, and pulled the little pot out of the fork. He couldn't bear to look at the fragile plant, now closing in on itself, and he dumped it out with the dirt.

Eve had been a mediocre, if enthusiastic, potter. The pot was uneven, and the indentations from her small fingers were all over it. He miracled a robe onto his body, and put the pot into his pocket.

He could no longer claim any connection with the Elohim. However, he could still claim his own name, his own actions, and when the time came, his own doom. He would be Crowley from now on. [1]

He walked out to the Eastern Gate. The angel, a Cherub of the Guard it turned out, whose name was Aziraphale, was standing vigilant as ever. If he remembered their first meeting, he had never given any sign.

“The Garden’s dying,” said Crowley, as he stood by the Eastern Gate, looking out at the world, which wasn’t looking any better. The sunlight was much too hot. And the rain had never fallen again, after that first storm.

“Yes,” replied Aziraphale. The ‘no thanks to you’ was unspoken, but not unheard.

Crowley walked toward the gate, and turned.

“How long will you stay?” he asked.

“Until I am relieved.” In spite of himself, Aziraphale was curious. “Where are you going, demon?”

“You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?”

“What?”

“Demon.”

“Oh, that,” said the angel. “It’s what we call you Fallen ones. We don’t call you angels anymore, er.”

“Oh,” replied Crowley. Apart from feeling out of the loop, he was unfazed. He’d been called worse, and here he still stood.

“What happened to your eyes?” The angel was talking to him.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re yellow, with black, er—”

“Oh, I meant to change that. I’ll do it later.”

Crowley looked out at the world. It was very big. The hot winds were blowing in from what was definitely becoming desert. And he couldn’t revert to his more powerful angel form without going Below. He suddenly felt very small and alone. He turned back.

“Come with me, angel,” he said. “There’s nothing left here.”

“Don’t you try to tempt me, serpent. I will discharge my commission faithfully. I will guard the Tree of Life until this burden is taken from me.” His words would have carried a lot more moral weight with a flaming sword, but that was gone.

Crowley was somewhat taken aback, but didn’t let it show. He was getting quite good at that. He simply proffered a mock salute. Then, he turned and walked out into the world, alone. [2]

The angel of the Eastern Gate watched him go. This was what came from letting young punks collide with birds and fall on people. The next thing you knew, they were off rebelling, and Falling, and making trouble all over creation. One was, of course, too polite to say so.

Left alone, Aziraphale started reminiscing. He missed his friends. He missed all the comforts of the heavenly city. He especially missed eating. He didn’t need food, but it was so pleasant. And the scrolls! He loved the feel of them in his hands, the slip of the bindings, the crackle of the unrolling...

“Guard!” Michael’s voice pulled Aziraphale out of his thoughts in an instant. He’d known this moment would come eventually, and was dreading it with every fiber of his being. “Where is thy sword?” Michael looked Aziraphale in the eye as he asked it.

“I lost it, Commander.” Aziraphale had decided that he wouldn’t set Michael on the humans, who had troubles enough. He would bear the archangel’s wrath himself. Off to the side, he saw two of Michael’s lieutenants. Official witnesses. This was not good.

Michael gave him a long, withering look. “I ask thee again, guard. Where is thy sword?”

Aziraphale looked down, and answered in a small voice: “I lost it, Commander.” He’d forgotten how intimidating Michael could be. He was actually trembling in his sandals.

“Once more I ask, and no more. Guard, where is thy sword?”

Aziraphale was no longer able to lie, and just closed his eyes and shook his head miserably.

“Surrender the insignia of thy rank!”

Aziraphale pulled the Cherub medallion off his robe, and held it out to Michael. He felt Michael snatch it away, and press something else into his hand. He closed his hand over it. Then Michael and his lieutenants were gone.

Aziraphale stood, his heart racing, shaking and unable to breathe. What had he done? And why? What had ever made him think this would be a good idea?

Aziraphale opened his eyes at last, and looked at the object in his hand. It was a small insignia, the mark of a Principality, the lowest rank of angel who could serve in the Guard.

Aziraphale sighed. Being court martialed and drummed out of the Guard would have been better than this, to go back Above the junior of his fellows. Well, he’d made his choice. Stoically, he attached the pin, its weight strangely light on his robe. 

* * *

[1] Though it would be some time before he got around to introducing the letter y into the alphabet. The superfluous letter has never had any real purpose but to look like a serpent's tongue. Crowley's other contribution to the alphabet was actually suggested by his friend Alcuin of York. The two had been drinking and philosophizing for some days when the scholar suggested that Crowley's serpentine shape was a better symbol of questioning than the forward slash then in use. And so the question mark was born.

[2] Shortly after this, Crowley received his first commendation, 'for compassing the Fall of Man, and the destruction of the Garden of Eden.' (Satan, noticing the Almighty's somewhat cavalier attitude toward His servants, had decided that an appreciative tone would make him more competitive. If you screwed up, however, he still reserved the right to nail your ass to the wall. Literally.) Crowley, who by this time had a firmer grasp on the whole politics thing, parlayed his advantage into a full-time, Earth-side gig.


	6. The Full Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes discover the world, and some of its pleasures. But first, Aziraphale is not okay on his own.

The years went by. The angel could actually see the Tree of Life from his post now. It looked the same as ever, though the Garden continued to die around it.

Aziraphale started thinking that just because people weren’t allowed near the Tree of Life, there was no need to be rude. So he miracled a small information center for their convenience.

The information center contained a lectern, which held a guest book, just in case anyone stopped by. He also set out some comfy armchairs, and a coffee table.

More years went by without anyone showing up. The Eastern Gate itself decayed and fell, so he added the words ‘Eastern Gate’ over the door of the information center. That didn’t look sufficiently grand, so he enlarged the information center. [1]

He then thought that he could add some space for himself. He added a back room where he kept a desk and a chest for scrolls. He could only miracle the scrolls that he had already read, but that was better than nothing.

More time went by. The wilderness beyond what had been the Garden was now desert. The angel was considering adding a souvenir shop. It didn’t occur to him that he was losing his mind.

He was sitting in the back room looking over some measurements, trying to decide whether to enlarge the information center or add another building, when he heard someone come in. The back room was suddenly filled with the most mind-numbingly delicious food smells.

He walked out into the main room.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Having lunch,” replied Crowley, as he sat down in an armchair, and set covered baskets out on the coffee table. “Join me?”

“What?!”

“Let’s see. Pita, falafel. Is this the hummus? No, it’s dates.” Crowley muttered to himself as he opened the baskets, and helped himself, in the process releasing smells that, though unknown to Aziraphale, were having an incredibly powerful effect on him. The angel held back only by standing behind an armchair and gripping the back until his knuckles turned white.

“Really,” said Crowley, “I have plenty. Here, try the lamb. Better than anything you get Above; take it from me.” He waved a basket of freshly roasted, perfectly seasoned lamb under Aziraphale’s nose. The angel gave up.

“Th-thank you,” he said. Again, there was no reason to be rude. And it wasn’t as though he could fall any further, except by Falling. “I will perhaps have just a bit.” He sat down, and Crowley handed him some lamb on a pita.

The food you got Above didn’t assault your senses like this, and the first bite quite overwhelmed and disoriented Aziraphale. Crowley watched, amused, as the angel worked through the sensations, and finally came up for air. And more lamb.

They ate together in a slightly awkward silence. Aziraphale saw Crowley’s eyes widen momentarily in surprise, when the demon caught sight of the tiny pin on his robe. However, the demon said nothing about it. [2]

“Your eyes are still, um—” said the angel, by way of conversation.

“Yeah, they won’t stay black.”

“What do you tell the humans?” ask Aziraphale, taking a date from the basket.

“That my expectant mother was frightened by a serpent.”

Aziraphale nearly choked. “They believe that?!”

“You’d be amazed the things they believe.”

“But they ate, they ate of the Tree!”

“Not enough,” shrugged Crowley. “So they have to learn most of it the hard way. Speaking of which, you have to try this,” continued the demon, unslinging a wineskin that hung over his shoulder. He opened it, and poured deep red liquid into two clay cups. He passed one to Aziraphale.

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s sort of like eating a knowledge tree fruit, without the burden of added knowledge. Go easy. It takes some getting used to.”

Aziraphale took the cup experimentally. Crowley clicked it with his own, and said: “To life.”

“To life,” the angel repeated. “I like that. To life.” He raised his cup, and drank the deep red liquid. And coughed violently. “I appreciate the food,” he said at last, “but the drink is vile.”

“Only the first time. Try it again. It’s worth the effort.” Crowley demonstrated the truth of his statement by draining his cup.

Aziraphale tried it again. “No, it’s still vile,” he said, then took another sip. And another. Then he tried more of Crowley’s food. They ate, and drank, and relaxed, and talked of inconsequential things.

“’Siss wonderful,” said Aziraphale at length. “Jus' wonderful.”

Crowley filled the cups again. The wineskin seemed to hold a great deal more than it seemed. But then, Crowley didn’t expect it to get empty. The angel took up his cup. “To life.”

“To life,” replied Crowley, drinking from his cup. “’m taking you to a party.”

“A wha?”

“Party. It’sss the full moon. Y’ur my guest.”

“Where’r we gonin’?”

“Oasssis nearby. C’mon.” Crowley pulled Aziraphale out of the armchair.

“Bu’ I have to guar’ the Tree of Life.”

“How many people d’ya get, average, each cenat- cento-, ev’ry hun’rd y’rs?”

“Well, um, on av’age, none.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a goofy smirk. “You c’n take a night off.”

“Wai, wait.” Aziraphale went over to the empty guest book and wrote ‘Back soon’ in uncharacteristically large, loopy letters. Then the two staggered off into the desert evening.

The humans lived in a small collection of buildings, which stood under the palm trees that surrounded a well. Music played somewhere nearby. One of the buildings proclaimed itself to be a tavern, with rooms to let. “’m ssstaying ther’,” said Crowley.

Beyond the buildings, they walked over a dune, and came upon a low area covered with wool carpets. A few dozen men sat there, drinking, while musicians played in front of them. Women offered food on trays.

Crowley approached and greeted one of the men sitting there. “Amalek, my friend,” he said, “thisss is Aziraphale, who is also my friend. I beg you treat him as you would me.”

The man stood and bowed to the angel. “Welcome Aziraphale, my friend. Please join us and enjoy yourself.”

“Than’ you very much, friend Amalek,” said the angel. Amalek found them a place on one of the carpets. Women scrambled to provide them with food and drink.

“Very frien’ly people, these humans,” said Aziraphale.

“Um, yeah,” said Crowley, looking around to see if anyone had heard. Everyone seemed to be otherwise engaged.

The musicians increased their tempo. With a strange, warbling cry, a group of young women and little girls came running over the dune, and started to dance. What had seemed an empty space in the carpets was now revealed to be a stage.

The girls and young women danced a lively dance with a lot of action around the hips. They had light scarves hanging from their belts, which accentuated their movements. The men whooped their appreciation.

The dancers danced far into the night, sometimes singly, sometimes in groups. Finally, the musicians changed to a slow, haunting piece. Most of the dancers sat down, joining family members, until only one young woman, barely more than a girl, was dancing.

“My daughter, Chania,” said Amalek to the angel. “Next full moon, she becomes the bride of that rascal, Balih, over there, who eyes her as a hawk does a dove. I hope that you will honor my family and join us in celebrating.”

“Th’nk you very much, friend Amalek,” said the angel. “’ll have to check my cal’ndar, but I will surely join you if I c’n.” Amalek looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled broadly and poured Aziraphale another drink.

The men watching Chania threw coins onto the carpet on which she danced. “She’sss dancing f’r her dowry,” explained Crowley. He miracled coins into his hand and threw them. “Ah,” said Aziraphale. He also miracled coins into his hand to throw. [3]

Chania danced through the audience. She threw one of her scarves around Crowley’s neck, and pulled him into her dance. Crowley gamely stood up and showed what he could do on the dance floor. [4]

Everyone laughed, and threw more coins. After a few minutes, Crowley sat back down. The young women and girls rolled up the carpet with the coins, and ran off with it into the night. The men played games of chance with the anklebones of sheep, and drank until nearly dawn.

When the party started breaking up, Crowley and Aziraphale took their leave of Amalek. Crowley promised they’d be back for the wedding. Aziraphale was finding that talking was too much trouble, and didn’t argue.

“Wha’s so special about the ful’ moon?” asked the angel as they meandered their way back to the Garden.

“The humansss can’t sssee in th’ dark.”

“What?!”

“’s true. The nigh’ of th’ full moon isss the only one they can sssee in.”

Crowley took Aziraphale back to the Eastern Gate Information Center, sat him down on an armchair, and grabbed hold of the front of the angel’s robe.

“Lisssten,” he said, “t’morrow th’ alcohol in y’ur blood will not feel good. You’ll have to r’move it.”

“R’move blood,” replied Aziraphale, his eyes out of focus.

“Nooo, don’ r’move y’r blood. Jusss the alcohol, jusss the al—” Aziraphale was asleep. Crowley let go of his robe.

Should he stay and help the angel through his first hangover? No, he knew how this would go. Aziraphale would blame him for the fact that he'd abandoned his post, and for the hangover itself.

Crowley didn’t need that. He covered the leftover food, which was still fresh and hot, as he expected it to remain until it was consumed. Food spoilage was something that happened to other people. Then he left, and sauntered back to the oasis. The sunrise was breathtaking. 

* * *

[1] He was finding, just as a hellhound in the future would also find, that squeezing your true self into too small a body changes your thinking.

[2] Although Crowley sometimes uses his rank to make fun of his body, Aziraphale willingly forgives him for this reason: never, ever has Crowley made any mention of, or allusion to, the fact that Aziraphale was busted down from Cherub.

[3] Pieces of eight. He was still having trouble with the whole time and history thing.

[4] The audience never realized how lucky they were that it wasn’t Aziraphale who was pulled into the dance.


	7. The Tree of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale discovers the secrets of the garden.

It was all Crowley’s fault. It was his fault that Aziraphale had abandoned his post. It was his fault that Aziraphale would be court martialed for dereliction of duty if Michael ever found out, and spend eternity cleaning the barracks on the outer ring. And it was absolutely his fault that the angel was now on his hands and knees, discovering that just because he ate something, didn’t mean that it wouldn’t come back up.

After this incident, the angel felt a little better, and he remembered that the demon had said something about it. Remove something, but what. Ah, it came back to him. He closed his eyes, and worked out what to do.

He came back to sobriety with a violent shudder. Then he quickly cleaned up the mess. That was better, but he was still in a mighty rage.

Who did that snake think he was, coming around and offering him food and drink and companionship? What kind of way was that to behave? Some things were simply beyond the pale, and he had half a mind to—Aziraphale stopped, and reconsidered his logic.

So, the demon had brought him food and company, when none of his friends seemed to remember that he existed. But Crowley had, and Aziraphale was grateful. To a demon. With whom he’d gone to a party, leaving his post unattended.

It was a lot to process. He decided to make himself march around the Garden. It would give him time to think, assuage his guilt somewhat, and reassure him that nothing untoward had happened during his absence.

On his march, he was surprised to discover that there were three other gates, or at least had been at one time, to the North, South, and West. The desert blew in through them all now.

The wind had blown huge swoops of sand up against the walls themselves. The walls were buckling under the weight in several places. In more than one spot the wall had fallen, and it was almost impossible to tell where the Garden was meant to end, and the desert begin.

The farther he went, the more baffled he felt. What was the point of posting a guard at only one gate? What was the point of a guard at all, if anyone could have just strolled in through any of numerous breeches all this time? This was beyond ineffable. It was stupid.

He returned to the information center in a somber and pensive mood. He spent days reading his scrolls in search of a clue, and thinking. Finally, Aziraphale took to sitting in front of the Tree all day and all night, watching it, and thinking. [1]

One morning, just as the sun was rising, Aziraphale realized that he had come to a decision. Furthermore, he realized that he was still sitting there only because he didn’t want to do what he was going to do.

“I was told to guard the Tree of Life. That’s my job.” The angel spoke softly to the Tree, as if afraid that someone else would hear him. “And I’ve been here, making sure nobody finds you, because I thought that you were the Tree of Life. But you’re not.”

“You can give the humans immortality. And immortality is all very well in its way, but it is not Life.” The angel looked around to see if any lightening was about to smite him. He thought that he had it figured out, but suppose he was wrong? All was quiet, and he continued.

“Life is out there. It’s people who welcome strangers, and girls who dance, and whoever it is who makes that delicious food. [2] That’s life. There’s no life here. Everything here is dead.” He raised his voice a bit.

“The Tree of Life is out there, growing, spreading its branches, sending the humans out to new and dangerous places.”

“And do you know what is in those branches? A demon, a serpent, who has done who knows what harm to the humans, while I’ve been here, tree-sitting!” He stopped to take a breath, and to get his courage in order.

“I shouldn’t be here! I should be out there, doing my job, guarding the Tree of Life, protecting the humans from the wiles of the enemy! That’s why I was sent here!”

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “That is right, isn’t it?” he asked the Tree in a quiet, worried voice. “That is what I should do, don’t you think?”

“Of course it’s right, you—you—Tree! I have to leave! I have to leave right now! I have to go find that snake and find out what he’s doing, and--, and--, well, do something about it!”

He stomped back to the information center. He miracled the scrolls away. He scratched out the words ‘Back soon’ from the guest book. He did a final bit of tidying up, and fluffed up the cushions on the armchairs.

After a moment’s hesitation, he packed a lunch of hot, fresh, leftovers into a basket. After an even greater hesitation, he also took the wineskin, which was still full, and left.

He walked out several hundred feet, and looked back. The Garden was truly gone. And the information center looked so small. No wonder nobody ever found it. It hardly looked like the site of humanity’s creation. And he still had to ensure that nobody found that wretched Tree.

Aziraphale raised a hollow mountain over the place that had been the Garden. It was a much better monument to the site of humanity’s creation. [3] He wondered vaguely how the humans would explain it away.

He looked around at the barren landscape. There was an awful lot of it. He was already hot, and uncomfortable. Where should he go? He didn’t know his way around the Earth at all. He suddenly felt very small and alone.

Aziraphale had never been much of an explorer. Although he was a member of the Guard, he was really more of a scholar. This job was getting too hands-on for his taste. Surely there were other angels who would be better suited.

When he’d called his job a burden, he’d had no idea. Now, he was overwhelmed with the scale of the work that awaited him. And those Above couldn’t be expected to exert themselves to help a mere Principality.

Well, he just wouldn’t dwell on it. He just wouldn’t dwell on the fact that the only person he could turn to for help here was the last person he should trust. He could do this. He started walking toward the only place he knew out here, the oasis.

What would his old friends think? Maybe they would think it typical of someone who could fall from Cherub to Principality in a moment. Maybe they would just think that Aziraphale was working his way down to the next rung of damnation.

No matter. Aziraphale didn’t need to go back Above and face his disgrace just yet. All the jeering, or worse, the pity, was still in the future somewhere. He might even be able to redeem himself somehow.

On the other hand, maybe he would Fall. Then, at least, he wouldn’t have to worry about his welcome back Above. And he had a friend in Low Places. All right, not a friend exactly, but at least he knew someone.

The sand was hot in his sandals. The light reflected too brightly off everything. The walk seemed much longer in the heat of the day, than it had in the cool moonlight.

It was the day of the full moon. He still had time to get to the wedding. That was a start. He should probably bring a gift of some sort. He had no idea what would be appropriate.

He was thirsty. He took a long drink from the wineskin. And another. Then he popped some lamb into his mouth. In the distance, he saw the oasis with its welcoming shade. There would be a wedding tonight. This wasn’t so bad after all. He took another drink. No, not bad at all.

First, he was going to find Crowley. The angel still had a job to do, after all. Aziraphale needed to know what the demon was up to. In order to do his job. In order to help the humans. In order to thwart the demon’s wicked wiles into the hot desert sand.

Besides, Crowley would have good ideas about wedding gifts.

* * *

[1] He had taken one of the armchairs out, and set it in front of the Tree. One needn't be uncomfortable, just because one is perplexed.

[2] He avoided the whole subject of the wine. He still wasn't quite sure how he ought to feel about it. But he was open to doing additional research into the matter.

[3] As well as being a handy landmark, in case he ever had to get back in a hurry for, say, a surprise inspection.


End file.
